


Odysseus

by agent85



Series: Odyssey [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fitzsimmons Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4717550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She feels the ache in her bones, and she is so tired of arguing, of fighting, of living. She's spent all these months watching as the strong slowly conquered the weak, learning to become strong so as not to be conquered herself. But maybe death would be preferable to living in a world as bleak as this.</p><p>[Companion piece to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4514190">Odyssey</a> and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4671833">Penelope</a>, but can be read alone.]</p><p>[For FitzSimmons Week, Day 5: Costume]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Odysseus

Jemma slides against the stone wall, peeking out to judge the distance of the enemy.

"I asked you a question, Larpa."

The small, purple-skinned alien looks up at her in horror, and the fuzz that frames her face stands on end.

"But Lady Jemma, we're under attack!"

"And when are we _not_ under attack?" She rolls her eyes. "Now, ionic bonds. Go."

Larpa brings one of her six hands up to scratch her temple, then winces as the sound of clanging echoes around them.

"Ionic bonds . . . an ionic bond is a type of bond between atoms that usually occurs between metals and non-metals." From the distance, a groan pierces the noise. "And, uh, it's the transfer of an electron from one atom to another."

"Yes," Simmons confirms, wiping off her brow with the back of her fist. The sun is beating on her, and she can feel the sweat and dirt collecting under her armor, weighing her down.

"And the other kind of bond is called?"

"A covalent bond. Those usually happen between atoms that are the same element or are close to each other on the periodic table."

"Very good," Jemma pants.

Larpa looks to the right, to the left, and then up into Jemma's gaze.

"We have to retreat, Lady Jemma."

"No."

"But we can't hold this position! They're too strong."

Jemma hardens her gaze. "I'm not leaving the portal."

"But Lady Jemma," Larpa gasps, "there are no elders left to open it! And even if you could find some, they'd never let you go home. We need you here."

Jemma shakes her head. "I've been teaching your people for months now, and I haven't even gotten you past rudimentary chemistry. I can't bring you into the next three industrial revolutions at once. Not alone!"

"We've already talked about bringing your—"

"I don't want you to bring him here. I want to go home."

"If you go home, they'll kill us!"

Jemma closes her eyes to nurse the sting in her heart. "They're killing you anyway. I'm afraid I'm not much help in that department."

She feels the ache in her bones, and she is so tired of arguing, of fighting, of living. She's spent all these months watching as the strong slowly conquered the weak, learning to become strong so as not to be conquered herself. But maybe death would be preferable to living in a world as bleak as this.

"Lady Jemma, we have to go."

"No, Larpa."

"But there's a bunker—"

"No!" She turns to face the one friend she's made here, and finds that her violet eyes are brimming with tears. She takes in a deep breath. "You can go. I'll stay here."

"But Lady Jemma!"

"He'll open the portal."

"What? How can he?"

"He'll find a way. I know he will."

She says the words, and they pierce her through. She does know it. She always has. There's a bond between them that can never be broken, and even now she feels it tugging her closer to the rock. They'll find a way back to each other or die trying.

When the clanging draws nearer, she raises her sword, almost smiling at how heavy it used to be. She's not an expert, yet, but she'll be able to hold her own. The only way she can help him is to give him the time he needs to get to her.

Larpa is sweet, but she's also a coward, and it only takes a significant look from Jemma and a far-off scream to make her yelp and run off, leaving Jemma to fend for herself. But then, hasn't she been doing that since she got here?

She holds the sword in both hands now, bringing herself into a defensive stance as the sweat drips down her face. Maybe when she gets back, she can talk to Coulson, who can talk to Maria Hill, who can talk to Thor, and something can be done. But if not, she will have to watch Darwinian theories unfold before her, and the very thought of it makes her sick.

But just then, she hears the rock start to shift behind her. Is it . . . could it possibly? Did he hear her call? But she doesn't have to see it to know that the time has finally come. In a heartbeat, she bids this world goodbye and flings herself into the melting rock before she can doubt herself, crashing into it with full force in the hopes that she can break through. It feels like swimming through hot tar, and it burns, but she keeps going. She brings her sword up to slash a clear path, but it doesn't help much.

And then, she's out of the tar and stumbling onto a cool floor in a quiet room. She almost loses her footing until she remembers that this must be it, and the fight is over. Then she hears footsteps coming towards her, and there he is.

Is it possible? Is she really back?

"Fitz?"

His name tumbles out of her lips, and she was born to speak it, born to call it out. She's been calling to him with her heart for so long, and it feels good to say it out loud.

He's holding something, some invention of his, but he drops it to the ground.

"Jemma?"

In her whole life, no one has ever spoken her name with such beauty.

"Fitz!"

She flings her arms around him and brings him close, trying to tell herself that he's real, that she recognizes his scent, his shape, and his touch. She would go through a thousand battles just to wrap herself up in this moment, in him. They hold each other in disbelief and in faith with a silent promise that this is the end of any separation between them. They belong like this, together.

But it's not enough just to hug him, because her hands have a mind of her own, roaming through his curls just to prove that he's still there, and that she's truly home. She puts a hand on each cheek and gets lost in the ocean of his eyes.

"You opened the portal," she says, and the smile widens across her face of its own accord. Fitz stares at her, and she can feel the warmth radiating off of him and into her, so she resumes combing through his hair until he sighs in contentment.

"You were looking for me," she whispers, but she hopes that he hears her say _I missed you, I waited for you, I love you._

_I love you, I love you._

His eyes open, and she wonders if he read her mind. He always could.

"'Course," Fitz says, holding back tears. "It was you."

She embraces him again, holding him as close as she can, because she knew before that he was everything she needed, but she knows it even more now. Maybe if she holds him tight enough, they'll fuse into one body, and she'll never have to be without him.

"You didn't give up on me, after all this time," she breathes.

"Jemma," Fitz whispers, "Jemma."

"I didn't give up on you, either. I never will."

She pulls back, to look at him, to see if he understands the promise she made. She doesn't see understanding in his eyes, so she underscores her point with her lips, peppering him with kisses like she did when she thought she lost him, doing it now because she knows she won't. She ends on his lips and finally, finally they've met in the middle. He tastes like hope and hard work, like a future unbound by the past. But she stops immediately when she remembers that she's been dreaming about this for months, but what if . . .

"Sorry," she says, running a thumb across his cheekbone. "It's been a while and we've never talked about—"

"You apologize too much," he says, and she smiles.

"Perhaps," she says, "so you're really . . . Fitz?"

He's started crying, and her heart breaks for him, but when he draws her close, she understands that she's the one who's broken. The moment they took her, she was shattered to bits, and his arms are like glue, holding her together.

"Fitz," she says, crying even harder than he is, "are we going to be alright?"

She loves him, and she tries to tell him with her eyes, but her heart stops when his eyes say it back.

"Yeah," he chokes, cupping her cheek, "why don't you put your sword away, and you can rest."

Rest is all she wants, and there's a peace that floods through her when she knows she's finally going to get it. She sheathes her sword and threads her fingers through his, curious as to what the future will hold, but confident that, at last, she will never have to fight her battles alone.

They walk down the hallways together, and she was worried that she would feel like a stranger in her own home, but how can she miss the weight of her sword when her hand is in his? When she's with the one person who will never leave her behind?

She's exhausted today, but tomorrow she'll tell him of her grand adventures, of the battles fought and wars waged, of the lives lost. And she'll tell him how she used muscle and wit, leveraging every ounce of strength to get back to him.

But now, she'll rest knowing that he waited for her, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I regularly post sneak peeks and general ramblings about my writing on [my tumblr](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/tagged/Writings%20of%20Agent%2085).


End file.
